


Soul, turn orange-coloured, the colour of love

by TotemundTabu



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dom Robb Stark, Human AU, M/M, Sub Theon Greyjoy, Top Robb Stark, painters au, painters in the 30s au actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 20:17:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4800854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/pseuds/TotemundTabu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Really? You need to take some lessons in disappointing parents, it gives a certain satisfaction managing every time.” he mumbled.<br/>Robb smiled, shaking his head, “He doesn't approve of art?”<br/>“He doesn't approve of anything, art is just the cherry on top of a pile of shit.” he ordered another glass and Robb followed his example.<br/>“Sounds like an adorable man.”<br/>Theon chuckled, cocking his head to the side, “If you consider ulcers a sign of good parenting, he probably is.”<br/>Robb laughed loudly, Theon smiled, feeling a weird warm tide in his stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soul, turn orange-coloured, the colour of love

**Soul, turn orange-coloured, the colour of love**

* * *

  
His strokes melted sweetly one into the other, gently, details unneeded. It was him and the light, raining from the window down on the room, illuminating the model in front of him in pale branches.  
She snickered at him, mocking, naughty, moving slightly, letting her hips sway sexually.  
Her legs moved slowly, with an unbearable obscene grace, while she giggled, her voice echoing and resounding vain and bright in the room.  
Theon raised an eyebrow, without separating his eyes from the canvas.   
“I thought the concept of staying still was known to you.”  
She giggled again and Theon swore to himself that was the last time he hired a prostitute he already fucked as a model, because then they take it as some form of roleplay or as a tender love declaration instead of his job, to do with he needed someone.  
He was not that different from a prostitute, after all.  
The woman curled her lips, like a cat, when the evil hunger for a mouse rises with a sordid gleam in her eyes. She chirped, “How serious”, with a charming malice, her voice dense and as scorching as wax.  
Theon chuckled and showed her a smirk, “Do I need to tie you to the bed?”  
“Don't you have other ways to convince a woman to obey you?”  
Her smile was sharp, the deep red of her lipstick contrasted the pale yellow of her teeth. Theon's glance fell from them onto her neck, still wearing a necklace of hickeys and bruises and on her breast, full and white, luscious and voluptuous as the garden of earthly delights.   
“Watch your mouth, I wouldn't want to stuff it.”  
She laughed and Theon returned to shade the blues of the sheets, trying to catch the glimmer of the shiny spring daylight.   
“What's going on here?”  
Theon rolled his eyes to the ceiling, cursing mentally.   
Jon Snow, again.   
He turned, with a smug smirk and an expression deserving of a chair slammed in his face, “I know it might confuse you, Jon, due to your lack of natural talent in both matters: but I'm painting a naked woman.”  
Jon flushed with anger and embarrassment, then threw his coat on the red-haired woman without staring at her any longer than strictly necessary, “Out now. - he yelled at Theon – How many times have I asked you to inform me before doing this shit, this is also my room.”  
“In an art academy. - Theon pointed out – Do I truly have to inform you when I plan to paint?”  
“If you don't want me to make you swallow all the yellow paint in the universe, yes.”  
“I've become immune to poison by sharing space with you for a year-”  
A laugh caught them both by surprise; Theon turned trying to decode who was speaking, while Jon directly got a betrayed and shocked expression on his face. Behind Jon Snow, leaning on the door, there was a handsome man: tall, big shoulders, eyes of the warmer steel blue, auburn thick hair and full lips bent in a bright laugh.   
“Do you find it really funny?” he asked, annoyed.  
The man who spoke gave a kind smile, but kept looking terribly amused.   
“I'm sorry, Jon, it's just... it was... kind of... - his eyes landed on Theon, interlocking with his own - … funny, yes.”  
Theon smiled. Not smirked, smiled, shyly, showing a bit of his pointed teeth.  
The man smiled and came closer, reaching out for his hand, under Jon's most bewildered and offended look, and said, “I'm Jon's brother, Robb Stark.”  
“I guess your brother must have already spoke to you about me.” he said, eyeing Jon, while shaking Robb's hand.  
Nice hold, strong.   
The guy seemed to get a bit shy then, embarrassed, and coughed out something Theon couldn't catch.   
Jon stormed in between them, pushing his brother away slowly from the back, “Don't make friends with the enemy!”  
“But I thought your only enemy were vaginas!”  
“Fuck you, Greyjoy!”, he shouted, as Theon and the prostitute started laughing.   
Robb smiled a bit again, while being pushed outside by a fuming Jon that, between a couple of curses, gave both Theon and “his friend” ten minutes to leave.   
“Ros. - Theon chuckled still, shaking his head – He is a fool, but I don't like when he barks too much, go, we will finish another day.”  
“Will you also make me work next time?”  
“How greedy.” he commented, cheerful, handing her some money.  
The woman smiled and dressed, while going around the canvas to take a good look at it. Theon had the worst personality she met in a client since a while – cocky and vain ones were nowhere near her favourites – but he truly had a talent for colours.  
Her face, though, she noticed, was still barely started, which was weird. She was sure he looked at it a long while and for sure not in a tender nor sensual way.  
She frowned and Theon startled, defensive.   
“What?”  
“Nothing... - she replied quickly, finishing to dress – Next time, tell your friend about it, I don't fancy being slapped with ugly clothes.”  
“Does this imply nice clothes are fine?”  
“You could spank me with furs, if you wanted.” she mewed.  
Theon watched her go away, contemplating a second fuck, but something bothered him, as she put a hand on the jamb, before crossing the door. He remembered Robb, staying there.  
No, not that, not again.  
He shook his head, sending the thoughts away again and, as he saw Ros leaving the academic building from the window, he went out too, closing the door behind him. When he exited in the garden, he saw Jon entering, glaring at him like a bitter wolf, and found it really ridiculous somehow. He looked usually more like a grumpy puppy in need of a mommy.  
He crossed the garden and arrived in the street, when he felt a presence behind him.   
“I'm sorry, I... I know this is...”  
Theon sighed, exasperated, “Sam, you know I...”  
The man in front of him was cute and reddish from a quick run, his big eyes were bright with hope, but shy with shame. Sam had been his roommate before Jon and he was a good painter, even if he had the tendency to be so insecure, he kept wanting some sort of feedback on the result.  
“I would ask Jon, but... you know...”  
Yes, Theon knew, even too well. And he wished he forgot because the image of Sam wanting to blow Jon Snow's virgin cock was one of those images he would have wanted to erase from his mind the most in the last five years; and in those years he also met his family, which always gave him a lot of materials for amnesia wishes.  
“It's fine. - he mumbled – Do you have your notebook? - Sam nodded – Then follow me to the bar, I need a good drambuie.”  
Sam gave the sweetest smile and followed Theon, explaining, full of passion, “I read this myth the other day and I got so fond of it, it wouldn't go out of my head.”  
“As it often happens...”  
“Deianira, you know her? She was one of the wives of Heracles, she was madly in love with him and so, when she saw him wanting another, she gave him a horrible poison, believing it to be a love potion...”  
“What a stupid hag.”  
Sam seemed a bit hurt, but proceeded, “And then I was thinking you know... about what...”  
“It's not Freud again, is it?” Theon glared.  
Sam fell silent and gave an awkward smile while nodding.  
Theon sighed, brotherly, “You know, your crush on Sigmund worries me even more than the one on Snow.”  
“Anyway, I was thinking... what if that's what we do?”  
“I beg your pardon?”, Theon frowned, entering in the old Cock o' the North bar he usually went to , to feel overwhelmed by his origins again, or better because that place reminded him so much of his father that he couldn't escape it.  
“We do that... unconsciously. Like Deianira, in the end, loves Heracles so much that she destroys him and I think we know sometimes that we are going to hurt people but we do it anyway.”  
Theon listened, trying not to mock, even if his instinct to avoid conversations of that kind was rising.  
Sam proceeded, “What if men know it's poison and don't care, but feel guilty, so they pretend they think it could be love potion? And not only to other people, we do that also to ourselves.”  
“Why would anybody do that?”  
Sam swallowed: he knew a good example, but he had to word it well and wording things well was not his forte. Theon sucked his lips, annoyed with the waiting, while he ordered his liqueur.   
“Sometimes we pretend we want something that actually hurts us, we pretend it's for our own good, but actually we suffer for it and we bring our end over ourselves...”  
“Has anyone ever told you that you are the most abstract brain ever? - Theon scoffed, spiky – People don't really do this stuff in the real world.”  
“When is it the last time you painted as you would like to?” Sam asked, brutally proving his thesis.  
Theon got stiff, “Show me the sketches and then go...”  
Sam gave Theon his sketchbook and the other man started looking at the new drawings he didn't see before; he gulped, silently, bitterly, staring at it as if he were being swallowed whole. A woman staring at the viewer, with her teeth like a sharks’ and her ribs showing, biting a rotten apple while mice fed off her lungs. A bird with the hands of man, tearing his own chest open, showing under the skin and feather a cage. A beautiful woman, her face covered by thick curls, riding... wait a minute.  
“Why does this woman have Snow's hair?”  
Sam flushed red, “I- I guess the subconscious...”  
“... I feel so dirty right now.”  
“It's really my brother's hair.” a comment came from behind.  
Theon stiffed, Sam instead seemed to become happier, “Robb!”  
“...you two know each other?”  
Robb smiled, patting Sam's shoulder, “Jon introduced us some months ago. That's a neat sketch, by the way. - he looked at it closer – A bit provocative for my taste though.”  
“At least he knows how to draw shapes.” Theon commented, referring to Jon's later fondness with Orphism.  
Robb seemed indecisive whether to laugh or behave like a good older brother, “You artists can be really merciless with one another.”  
Theon smirked, “Truth is often merciless, my dear. - he eyed Robb's crotch, cursing himself for doing it and then turning his eyes to the table – How come you’re still here?”  
“Ah... I wanted a drink.” he lied. Badly.  
Sam rescued his notebook and, with a shy smile and a quick nod, mumbled, “I think I will go to put these on canvas. - he looked at Theon with the look of someone who wants to be encouraging and doesn’t realize they’re throwing you off a cliff – Why don't you talk to Robb about your paintings too, Theon? I'm sure he would find them nice.”  
“Oh, I saw one! - Robb commented, sitting, while Sam went away, much to Theon's annoyance – Well, I didn't look at it very well, I admit, the situation was a bit... ill-suited for artistic observation.”  
Theon smirked, chuckling, “Were you more distracted by the smoke from your brother's head or by Ros' delicious boobs?”  
Robb didn't seem amused, much rather embarrassed and caught off guard.  
Theon observed him better, this time: Robb was probably a couple of years younger than him, but his shoulders were bigger and so his constitution in general. He didn't like that, somehow, it made him feel weak.  
The attraction he felt didn't make it any easier.   
Damned Sam, he knew he decided to stop. He knew he didn't want to do it again, his father wouldn't have...  
“You don't seem likely companions, you and Sam.”  
“We share more than the eye would tell.” Theon commented, sipping his liqueur.  
Robb stared at Theon's lips, biting his own. And Theon caught him red-handed.  
Robb Stark was a transparent man, such a dark attire, yet such an honest heart. His eyes were so light and clear and they showed all of his emotions without much censorship. It was tender to see such a big, nice man going so shyly around the thing he clearly wanted.   
He looked like a wolf too, like his brother, but a hungry one, seeing food and wondering if he could maybe, perhaps, trust it.  
“I didn't mean to offend...”  
Theon contemplated what to do, where to trace the line of his own limit, which buttons not to push. But he was made wrong, his dad knew – he always told him – he was weak and sick, overall a freak.  
Both in art and in bed.   
But Robb had the eyes of the colour of the sea as it stretches on the shore in winter and a smile that could lift the sorrow of life and Theon was not sure why he felt like a moth enchanted by fire.  
And it’s when Robb bites his bottom lip a bit, suffocating a slight temptation that crossed his mind, that he stops thinking.  
“Of course not. - Theon's smirk took a malicious turn – You just speak from what Snow told you, but I wouldn't take him as a good judge of character... - Theon licked his own lips, naughty – Of course, as you can see, it would be really convenient for me to say so, in order to grasp the favour of Jon's handsome brother.”  
“Do you really find me handsome?” Robb asked, proud.  
Theon bit his inner cheek: he really couldn't help himself. He was the most disgusting flirty fucker in history and he wanted to sink his teeth into Robb's neck.  
“Sort of.” he smirked, chirping a bit, crossing his leg.  
Robb seemed bothered by the weight of something, as he murmured, not sure himself why he was so honest, “It seemed a bit cold.”  
“What?” Theon seemed to wake up just then.  
“The painting seemed a bit cold, like... you didn't seem very into it.”  
Theon let out a mocking chuckle, “Art is not just emotion, it requires skills and precision. Talent and knowing what you're doing.”  
Robb smiled unknowingly, while staring, mesmerized, at Theon's features. The cocky turn of his smile woke him up, as sun crashes the night.  
“Are you fond of your brother's paintings?”  
“I guess. - Robb coughed, his voice hoarse with a sudden shyness – I am more of a fan of traditional ways...”  
Theon sighed: just like his father, after all...  
“But. - Robb continued – I think people should express themselves in the most honest way. I appreciate sincerity above all.”  
“Sincerity?” Theon scoffed.  
“Yes, - he claimed, determined – Being able to trust someone fully is...”  
“Naivety.”  
Robb rose an eyebrow, “Essential. - Theon seemed just amused, embittered, he shook his head and his eyes got a watery reflection, so Robb continued, moving a bit more towards the painter, in the intimate gesture of a research of getting the door to open – I don't think one man can live without trusting none but himself.”  
Theon smirked, his crooked teeth shone behind the sour and sharp way its mouth bent.   
“You must feel lonely, then.”  
“Don't you too?”  
They exchanged a glance and they both knew, in that moment, that Theon's answer was a defeated “yes”. But Robb didn't claim victory, he didn't say anything about it, and that's what made Theon feel he could relax.  
That man was not his father and not everything was a power game, for once.  
“I've a sister, I've never had the privilege.” he lied, smirking.  
Robb seemed to light up, “Only one sibling? Your life must be calm.”  
Theon frowned, “How many do you have?”  
“Five, Jon included.” he claimed, enthusiastically, smiling kindly.  
“Five? Are you a motherfucking Irish?”  
“My mom is. - he explained, scratching his nape – So...”  
“Well, that explains the look.”  
“Which look?”  
“The friendly yet firm look, like you're a Sheppard dog of some shit, supposing you're the older one, obviously.”  
“I am. - Robb smiled – I'm a bit impressed.”  
Theon smirked, “And what do you do to live?”  
“I don't have much of a choice, my dad wanted someone to inherit his business, I couldn't let him down.”  
“Really? You need to take some lessons in disappointing parents, it gives a certain satisfaction managing every time.” he mumbled.  
Robb smiled, shaking his head, “He doesn't approve of art?”  
“He doesn't approve of anything, art is just the cherry on top of a pile of shit.” he ordered another glass and Robb followed his example.  
“Sounds like an adorable man.”  
Theon chuckled, cocking his head to the side, “If you consider ulcers a sign of good parenting, he probably is.”  
Robb laughed loudly, Theon smiled, feeling a weird warm tide in his stomach.  
Robb made him feel at home as he never felt before.  
“So, - the younger man asked, smiling knowingly – Does he also disapprove of your.... conduct... in other...”  
“You're so awkward it’s painful. - he grinned and winked, Robb stiffing and flushing red up to the ears – Yes, I... swing the same way you do.”  
“How can you tell?” Robb seemed vaguely offended.  
Theon chuckled, “I fucked enough to tell quickly.”  
“What does enough mean?”  
Theon didn't answer; instead a cold, sad gleam shone in his eyes. He remembered his dad, crushing a bottle on his head and then stabbing his arm with it.  
He remembered the blood, the pain, the burn, Asha yelling and trying to pull him away.  
Asha trying to contain their father, that fumed with wrath.  
“A faggot son, a fucking faggot who paints that creepy shit. Did I allow you to go to the academy for this? - he yelled, crushing a painting with the bottle, tearing another one apart, then almost throwing Asha down as he came close to him, for how old and skinny he was he still looked as big as a bear – Couldn't you have died instead of your brothers for fucks sake? You pathetic degenerate.”  
“Theon?”  
Theon startled, returning to the present, where Robb was smiling kindly, his eyes sparkling. He looked almost harmless, despite that sure fact that he was strong enough to slam him on the ground in three seconds.  
“I'm sorry, I was lost in thought...”  
“I asked if I could see some of your paintings...”  
“Sure. - he smiled weakly, thinking about all the ones his father burnt, but he could show Robb the safe ones, the ones he wouldn't have been considered a degenerate for – Sure, I... I'd love you to.”  
Robb smiled, then licked his lips, in a gesture that mixed arousal, shyness and the need to talk. He hesitated, words lingering on his mouth, needy and heavy as ocean waters, ready to pour over and submerge.  
Theon still had that smug smirk, the look of someone who knows what they want and how to get it, but it was not only that that caught and mesmerized Robb; he had little interest in vain and cocky people, being himself pretty driven to command. The real deal, the true trap, was what he saw beyond: fragility, a deer staring doubtful at a hand full of food, a neck to kiss and drink shivers from.  
Theon licked his lips too, but slowly, intentionally, taking a kind of lewd pleasure in seeing Robb's eyes following his tongue.  
He found a certain subtle pleasure in seeing how Robb seemed to pend from his lips, because nobody ever did, and then, suddenly, without any sense, such an handsome, clearly smart man, with the charisma of an alpha wolf, seemed to have eyes for nothing else in the world than him, the lonely painter who never truly loved nor got loved.  
“I'd show you now, - he grinned – But I'm afraid your brother is in my room.”  
In Robb's head to minors an absolutely forbidden idea of what they would have done in that room was playing and, for the first time in his life, he wanted to be an only child.  
Rain started pouring outside, fresh and sharp, igniting the colours of the whole city – the greens and the whites, the greys too became sparkly, bright. Theon seemed to get tenser, as if a thought knocked on his head bothering him.  
“You don't like rain?” Robb asked, slightly confused.  
Theon didn't reply, drinking more. Alcohol started to make his head feel slightly dizzy, blurring the lines of what was appropriate to say and to which volume. He could feel the need to touch Robb tickling inside his veins.  
He wanted him.  
It was like one of those reckless, bordering on suicidal, instincts that actually have a lot to do with self-preservation; nobody ever looked at him or talked to him like he did: there was charm, power in his voice, but no violence and no imposition.  
Robb didn't need rope to tie him.  
Not that he would have minded, though.  
“Sure we could... - his eyes had a warm gleam, his curls fell on the neck softly, slightly sweaty for the moist air – ...ask Sam to take Jon out, if you think you'd have the time to.”  
Robb nodded, almost mechanically, moving his head slightly, while he felt his loins begging him to kick his younger step-brother out of the whole building even for the whole night.  
“I guess we could.” he let out, his voice hoarse with anticipation.  
The task was not difficult: Sam couldn't wait for better than spending time with Jon and, as Theon suggested him to propose a night of painting together while discussing sad melancholic shit and why their lives sucked to Jon, Jon fell into the trap like a fly into honey. Theon took the precaution of locking the door, hoping to make it intense and quick and then, possibly, also take the spell Robb was leaving off from him, making his skin shiver in need to be touched.  
When his father discovered him, Theon promised himself not to have men anymore.   
He liked both, anyway, not just men, so he decided it wouldn't have been a big sacrifice – but, instead, the continuous denial, the constant prohibition, burdened his shoulders like lost sleep. He couldn't even paint as he wanted anymore.  
Art and sex, the only two ways he felt free, were taken away from him.  
Not completely true, he still had women and … traditional academic art, but... there was no passion in that, no real freedom, no joy, no getting lost in pleasure and honesty.  
He had wings he couldn't fly with for his real ones were stolen.  
Robb, Robb was great. He was charming, his hair looked like cooling coal in the winter and he had the eyes like shores in blue evenings.  
And he was kind and sweet.  
He liked Robb, but he was torn again: he couldn't have him and he couldn't deny him.  
So, he thought, obeying desire, just desire, before it became more, that would have been a good idea.   
But as Robb smiled to him, enthusiastically, going through his sketches, Theon's heart sank to his stomach. He swallowed.  
“Ah, don't look at those...”  
“Why?” - he looked as if he found treasure – Those are...”  
On some of them, deformed, skinny figures ran one over the other, coloured pencils roughly tracing lines and darkness beyond the strong colours. Every figure looked horrified, tired. Robb kept looking at all of them, their bodies bent under sadness, their eyes screaming for something they couldn't achieve, humans hearts used as litter for others' wicked words. There was no mercy in those drawings: just expression, raw, untied and uncensored expression.  
Robb saw Theon's naked heart, and recognized his own in it.  
He never felt like that with Jon's art or any art at all, not that he never found it beautiful, but he was never struck by it, left engulfed and in pieces.  
“Old stuff. I don't do that anymore.”  
Robb frowned, “Why?”  
Theon gave a quick groan, like if something painful stabbed his side, he took the sheets of paper from Robb and showed him a glare – he meant to be threatening and it would have managed normally, but to Robb he just looked like some lost puppy in need. His eyes shone with anger but beyond that there was fear and vulnerability and memories knocking on the icy grey of his eyes, which he sent back almost furiously, almost on the verge of panic.  
And Robb wanted to know what those memories were, to seal them away.  
“Why?” Robb insisted  
“They were leading nowhere.”  
“I don't think so...” Robb mumbled, staring at them more.  
“Don't act as if you get it.”  
“I don't, probably, I’ve never created anything in my life, but what I know is that this... - and he pointed at the Ros' portrait – This is something I can't do technically, but these instead... these are emotionally too much for me to do: they’re raw. These are my guts and soul. - he said, touching the sheets and Theon's arms holding them – I feel these paintings, Theon, this is not only you, this is me in the night burdened by things I can't put up with either. I also feel alone. I also feel deformed inside and beyond bones and flesh... these figures without spines, bent over themselves, I recognize something in them...”  
“It's just a painting. My father -”  
“I don't give a fuck about your father and you shouldn't either.”  
Robb seemed dead serious and Theon didn't know how to send that away with a smug laugh. He didn't know how to fake it all away.  
He was not used to kindness and honesty to coexist.  
He swallowed, his voice emerging hoarse and bitter, “You don't know what it means to disappoint someone you try to gain the recognition of for all your life, do you?”  
Robb frowned, as if he were offended; then, he stared right into Theon's eyes and murmured, “Have you ever considered being close to people who don't find you disappointing?”  
Theon scoffed and laughed, mocking, “Like you?”  
“Like me.”  
Theon sucked his lips, frustrated. He was losing control and he didn't like that: he wanted to hold a knife on the side that wouldn't have cut, he wanted to be the one coming out of that clean and whole. It would have been nothing big and he wouldn't have been vulnerable and weak in front of...  
Robb's eyes chained him, his smile bent him.  
His fingertips traced soft, delicate touches on Theon's arm, making him soften the grip on the sheets that fell to the ground.  
Robb tried to pick them up but Theon grabbed his face, pulling him closer and trapping him in a kiss.  
He could feel Robb slightly panicking under him, surprised, his heartbeat and breath rate crushing against his own, quickly, rushing. Theon smirked, holding his dear control again. He made space, licking Robb's lips seductively, slowly, convincing him to open his mouth enough for him to push his tongue in, claiming his mouth.  
Robb gave a small wheeze, drenched in desire he was not sure how to put in action. He backed up a bit, feeling his mouth filled to the brink by Theon's tongue, big and warm, invading him. He closed his eyes, trying to catch and remember every mesmerizing passing feeling, every sensation and scent.  
He wanted that kiss carved in his heart and mind.  
He moves his hands, caressing Theon's cheeks, feeling his stubble rough under his palm, the thin skin of his ears, the soft hair falling on his neck. He couldn't hold back a smile, as he kissed Theon back, his tongue finding space and craving more.  
Theon felt shivers run down his spine, as he saw Robb close his eyes and kiss him deeper. Why was he so relaxed? He looked like the shyer one, but now Theon found himself losing every inch of power he gained back and he closed his eyes too, fuelling the kiss, losing himself, putting his arms around Robb's big neck.  
Their groans and moans grew in volume, as Theon started to move his hips, rubbing his crotch against Robb's.   
The younger man failed in suffocating a low grunt, as he could feel his blood rush through his groin.   
Theon smirked, biting Robb's lips and breaking the kiss. His eyeslids fluttered, flirty.  
“Bed?”  
Robb nodded, without words, his eyes nailed on the floor.  
Theon seemed to regain some of his natural arrogance; he chuckled, taking off his shirt and then aggressively untying Robb's tie and buttons, leaving kisses on his neck and shoulder. Robb's chest shivered with impatience, as he returned to caress Theon's hair, to run his fingers on his back, while he felt his neck assaulted.  
Is this how a deer feels, sucked to the bone by a wolf?   
Obviously, the pain was not any close to that, but he felt as powerless and it filled him with elation - the pleasure he felt from it all: his blood staining his skin, the warmth of Theon's lips and teeth, most of all the sensation of melting in his mouth into a puddle of lewd moans.  
He had girls, a couple, nice ones, he supposed: big boobs, wasp-waisted with long hair, but he never felt that good. It was different; there was an intimacy he never knew.  
Robb separated, panting, trying to reach the bed and stared at Theon, hypnotized by that certain violent grace he had.  
Theon's teeth were sharp and thin under the pale light of the moon and the yellow electricity of an old lamp. The colour of his eyes seemed darker, his lips fuller.   
As Robb laid down, Theon reached him and placed himself over Robb, standing straight, knees at the side of the other man's hips, his dick half-hard in his hand.  
“What, hm...”  
Theon raised an eyebrow, curious and a bit entertained, contemplating Robb's wide chest.  
Robb swallowed, “What's going to happen... now?”  
“Selon toi? - at Robb’s, very cute indeed, frown, Theon decided to not use his French card just yet – In your humble opinion, mister Stark?”  
Robb had zero intention to admit that he never did it with a man. He always knew he liked also boys, since, well, he did have small crushes on them too, but he never acted on it – Theon was not the only one with a father to make proud and admitting his lust to put a cock in his mouth didn't seem like a great way to gain it.  
But, god, he really did like that guy and Jon spoke about him often as an awful and mean and ugly human being but as his eyes met that body and those eyes and his sarcastic remarks echoed, he just wanted to kiss him to no end. He even followed him and Sam to a bar to talk to them. He felt so awkward and stupid, god damn it, he didn't think it through.   
Theon frowned, this time seeming even worried, he bent over Robb and kissed his cheeks, softly, gently.  
“I'll eat you slowly, don't worry...” he joked, giving a smile. A new kind of smile: tender and kind.  
He placed a soft kiss on Robb's Adam apple and from then he descended, painting on the lines of his ribs with his tongue, caressing his muscles with his fingertips. Robb moaned, his erection rising, strong, bold, barely constricted in the pants that Theon took off with a low chuckle.  
“Theon...”  
“Yes?” he turned.  
Robb was staring at him, a bit enchanted, frowning.   
“Guide me a bit...”  
“I like you a bit under my control, I admit.” he confessed, in a smug smirk.  
Robb smiled, his hand caressing Theon's hair, then the cheek, with sweetness. His voice became more confident, “We'll have more fun, I think, if we both lose it.”  
“What would Sam's friend say? Didn't he write: 'everything is about sex, except sex, that's about power'?”, he laughed a bit, hiding a sudden shyness.  
Robb stood a bit, holding Theon's wrist, then pulling him closer and shoving his tongue into his mouth, kissing him again, this time wildly, voraciously and ferociously. Eagerness pulsed in his veins as a drug.  
As they separated, this time Theon was the one panting, his heart racing inside his throat.  
“This is not about sex nor power. This is about you and me.”, he said firmly.  
His eyes shone with an ingenuous kind-heart and Theon blinked, blushing slightly.  
He snickered a bit, putting a fist in front of his mouth.  
“Wh-what?”  
“You speak like such a knight in shining armour. - he mocked, smiling, happy – Does your majesty fancy the idea of me sucking his royal cock?”  
Robb nodded, speechless.  
God, he loved that guy.  
Theon smiled, seeing Robb's dazed and mesmerized expression as he opened his mouth and started licking his shaft. Robb suffocated a scream, jerking his head back and arching his back.  
“Your first blowjob?”  
“Shut up-”  
“I will soon.” he promised, circling the penis' head with his tongue and licking it slow enough to make Robb build up need. He held the length with his hand, pumping it, while he took the tip in his mouth and started sucking.  
Robb was confident he was dead and seeing the gates of Heaven.  
He felt on the verge of melting in Theon's mouth. Everything was hot, scorching, and soft, like silk, enveloping him – his tongue kept torturing his cock, bringing him closer and closer to the point where it was almost painful.  
Theon tightened the grip of his hand a bit and then swallowed more of Robb's cock, deep throating it, moving his head quicker. Robb pushed Theon's head down, his fingers grasping Theon's hair while his voice twitched and unravelled in a liquefied puddle of indistinctive groans; he moved his hips against Theon's mouth, as if he wanted to go deeper into it, fucking his tongue.  
As the older man started sucking harder, eagerly savouring the thick precum, Robb clenched the sheets and came with a moist, low, grunt.  
Theon coughed and swallowed, a victorious grin rising on his lips as he saw Robb staring at the ceiling, eyes the size of the moon.  
“I'll deduce you liked it.”  
Robb shook, “Oh, oh, I... before, I didn't mean to...”  
“Oh, shut up. - he licked his lips – It was nice to see such an enthusiastic reaction.”  
Theon returned down, kissing Robb's crotch and his thighs again, licking the lagoons and corners of his flesh, tracing his balls with his tongue and enjoying the shivers that made the other man squirm.  
“Pass me the oil... - he mumbled, sucking Robb's balls – On the dresser on your right.”  
Robb frowned, “Wha-t do you use this for?”  
“The greens...”  
Theon licked Robb's tip again, chuckling as he got hard, not surprising for a virgin or a young man, but it was still flattering.   
Robb's hand was trembling as he passed the bottle of oil to Theon and the man put some on his fingers, gently.  
“Relax.”, Theon said, without even looking at him.  
“You are probably gonna put those up my ass, I'm sorry if it's hard to relax.”  
“Do victimism and sarcasm run in the family, mister Stark?” he chuckled, before returning to focus.  
He circled Robb's ass, caressing it with his tongue and feeling the man getting stiffer against him, protesting yet never denying himself.   
At the first finger, Robb's ass was so tight and warm that Theon was tempted to actually fuck him. It felt so good, Robb's muscles were all tensing up against his finger, begging him to stay in.  
At the second, Robb's voice got muskier, rough and dense in desire. Theon claimed victory and pushed deeper, searching for what he knew would have definitely gave him the show to make his night. He curved them slightly and Robb lifted his legs with a moan.  
Robb stared at him, vaguely ashamed, but Theon's grin just widened while he proceeded to rub the point again and again, driving Robb on the verge of insanity.  
It was not supposed to feel so good, was it?  
It felt hot, electric, his whole body was tense – sparks ran on his spine like thunder, his cock hardening. Robb started to buckle his hips, the need to thrust into something growing overwhelming.  
When Theon stopped, exiting, Robb felt betrayed. His cock was throbbing in need and he could feel his whole body dying to be touched.  
Theon found him tender and kissed his forehead, before putting a generous amount of oil on Robb's dick and starting to massage himself.  
“Ah... - Robb swallowed, aroused – You want me to...?”  
“That would be why I showed you how to make it feel good.”  
Robb pulled Theon down from the neck and kissed him deeply, searching for his full, fleshy lips, tasting the natural sweetness of his mouth. They both smiled, this time, interrupting the long, passionate kiss for smaller ones, placing them on the lips, tenderly.   
As their eyes opened again and locked, Robb's seemed to shine with a new fire. He pushed Theon on the bed and pinned him down by his wrists.  
“If you want me to do it, then I should do it as I want to.”  
“Commanding. I like it.”  
“I'm not going to give your orders.”  
“That's a shame... - he moved his leg up, rubbing it against Robb's crotch – You are not cut out to be a royal, mister shining knight.”  
“It's not fun, if it's not done with a willing heart.”  
Theon blinked again, “You know, this is cute but a bit off putting.”  
“We will see how off putting it is when I'll be making you scream my name instead of mocking it.”  
Robb's hand held Theon's hips and pulled them closer, provoking a small aroused flinch in Theon's voice. His strong hand passed over Theon's pale skin, signing it, covering it- he opened the other’s legs and put some oil on his hand, too much, as it spilled a bit on the sheets, but Theon smiled: it was the first time anyone really took so much care in making sure he'd feel good.  
Robb inserted the first finger and met no resistance, just a pleasured moan, a velvety, longing whine. Theon's cock hardened more and Robb decided to jerk it off. Theon arched his back, relaxing completely and swallowing all of Robb's second finger without problem, moving his hips against them, needy for more.   
Robb looked so focused, his whole face tense, frowning, that was already enough to make Theon moan in anticipation, welcoming a third finger and gasping in delight at how good feeling stretched again was. And how differently good, that time.  
Robb was... sweet.  
He even seemed too sweet but Theon wondered if it was not just because he never did have that in his life to make it seem too much. He almost felt like he had a vertigo from how spoiled he felt under his touch.  
When Robb started to move, in and out, Theon shouted in pleasure, squirming, arching his back and trying to hold onto that sensation for eternity. He rolled his eyes back, as Robb found exactly where to touch and started slamming into it, hitting his prostate with a growing pressure.  
Theon sucked his lips, holding back the need to scream and pant.   
He could feel his whole body on fire, needy, desperate.  
The overload of sensations was just too much: Robb's hand on his cock and inside him, the feeling of being opened and touched in the best way, and, more than everything, the sensation that being vulnerable wouldn't have meant being stabbed in the back... he felt free, he felt good, only good. No guilt, no anxiety, no pain.  
Theon moaned, his voice drenched in lust, “Please, not yet...”  
Robb stared at him, charmed, “...it's a bit hard to stop, if you make those sounds...”  
Theon smiled, his voice weak with desire, he was almost mouthing, “Enter. I want to come with you in.”  
Robb didn't need to hear it repeated twice and poured a vulgar and completely unneeded amount of oil on his erection. He took away his hand and substituted it, quickly, in a swift move, making Theon bite his own arm to avoid shouting.  
His eyes widened in pain and pleasure mixed.  
The girth stretched him so much Theon was afraid of getting torn apart as soon as Robb would have started to move, yet he felt so full, so damn full. Every inch of his ass could feel Robb's cock pulsing into it, strong and big.  
He would have liked to ask for a minute, but Robb seemed to have gone absent, he put his hands on Theon's ankles, straightened out his legs, and thrusted completely in one, singular, slam.  
Theon's jaw dropped, his mouth agape, words not even trying to form anymore, just coming out as crippled broken moans. Robb kept thrusting, deeper and stronger, trying to work a sort of rhythm, but ultimately failing at it: when he was in he couldn't avoid wanting to stay in longer and longer, feeling Theon's walls clenching on his hardness, and when he went out was just to sink deeper, pushing further and further.  
Theon squirmed, writhed. His hips moved, twisting almost on their own, craving to be torn and smashed by that feeling of absolute fullness and delight.  
At each thrust, Robb seemed to grow stronger and fonder of the sensations. Everything was overwhelming; he felt his body burn with Theon's warm softness.  
His heart was on the verge of collapsing into a pit of pleasure.  
As he felt like he was about to come, he stopped for a second, opened his eyes again and saw Theon, under him, shivering, fully abandoned to desire. His skinny, toned body was shining in the moonlit room, the blue enveloped both of them as if time was crystallized and they couldn't be touched nor found by the world.  
Theon moaned his name, in a rasping breath, sucking his dry lips.   
Robb thrusted in, completely, and laid slightly on Theon, managing to reach his mouth and kiss him. He swallowed Theon's moans, one after the other, needy and lustful, while he kept pushing in and out, slamming into Theon's prostate again, hitting it at every strong rock.  
Theon was about to cry, arching his toes, unable to contain the shocks of pleasure filling his nerves, while everything in the universe seemed to disappear except the wonderful sensation of his ass being rammed and fucked mercilessly.  
He could feel his prostate being hit again, blood gathering in his throbbing cock, while Robb kept kissing him, moving inside his mouth. He found a perverted, slutty pleasure in realizing both his holes have Robb pulsating into them, filling them, giving him shocks of the purest arousal.  
He was fucked in earnest, without anger and yet voraciously; he clawed and gasped, his mouth completely open, his tongue tensed out, as if every part of him was kept together by electrical tension. Robb thrusted again, quicker and quicker, tormenting all of Theon's spots, leaving no inch untouched, and yet every part of his hole was desperate for more.  
Robb smiled, proud, as Theon started moaning obscenities, begging him.  
He gave in, mostly because he could also feel his own cock couldn't bear so much pleasure anymore, and so pulled out until he almost left him empty and then thrust again into Theon all at once, huge and rough, with a low roar, making the older man scoot, arch, scream the wettest whine as he could feel heat pooling in his cock and the raw sensation of his body losing all control.   
Robb bit his shoulder, sucking, and Theon orgasmed with a slutty moan, his ass then clenching harder around Robb's erection. At that, the other couldn't stop himself anymore from coming and filling Theon's ass with his dripping hot cum.   
Theon smiled, falling asleep immediately, resting his head against Robb's chest, while the Stark man smiled, caressing his hair.  
In the meantime, rain became harsh, sharp, cutting through and drenching the city; and Jon Snow was not drunk, he was beyond wasted, alcohol tickling inside him and making his movements slow and his voice cranky.  
Sam looked at him puzzled, worried, mumbling, “Maybe we should stop now...”  
His small smile was tense, almost fragile, while Jon turned, with the grumpiest expression, his eyes thin in suspicion, “Beer understands me.”  
“...yeah, umh, you need some air.” Sam declared, pulling the other man outside the pub with him.  
When they walked outside, though, the rain caught them unprepared, showering them and freezing them to the bone. Sam cursed, Jon laughed hysterically and bent on the ground, half-puking.  
Sam sighed, trying to put his friend up but Jon moved badly, slapping his helping hand away, stumbling and staggering.  
“Jon, you're drunk!”  
“That's terrible, alert the police! - he shouted, falling over a column and hugging it while puking again – Life is pain.”  
“...vomiting is not the best, I agree, but now, let's try not to fall into the sadness spiral and let's go home, mh?”  
“I hate it, Sam, I hate it.”  
“What?”  
“My fucking brother, he likes the skinny asshole...”  
Sam frowned, “You mean Theon?”  
“Yes. He likes him. More than me. At least he always liked me! - he whined – Am I dislikeable? Why do people leave me behind...?”  
Sam caressed Jon's back, while his friend cried and puked at the same time, hiding his head behind the column. Sam sighed, looking at the dark, cloudy, sky.  
“I don't think you can compare, Jon, the love for a brother and the love for a possibility.”  
Jon glared at him and curled up, almost in a ball, hiding his face.  
He knew.  
He was not blind: he knew his brother and he knew Theon's past. It was not hard, it was not difficult. They looked at each other with lust since the first moment, as if heaven would have been just lying next to the other.  
But still... Robb was the only person who never preferred anybody else to him. He was Robb's favourite person and it felt safe, as if Robb could be...  
“He is not the only one who loves you-”  
“I know. - he scoffed – I had my other siblings too...”  
Sam's cheek turned dark with embarrassment, as he held onto himself and worked up the courage, mostly due to Jon's slow reflexes from the alcohol abuse, to admit, “That's not what I meant.”  
He shivered at Sam's hand caressing his wet curls, with a motherly gesture.   
He turned, discovering how sweetly he was smiling to him, as if nothing in the world could be prettier than him, bent over the pavement, throwing up beer. He felt home, suddenly, more than he ever felt.  
Sam kneeled down, smiling more at Jon, who moved closer, catching the soft lips of the other man in his own. Sam froze, at first, wondering if it was really happening: Jon's mouth was bitter, sour, but it didn't matter, it felt like a dream. A beautiful, sweet, dream, filled with all he wanted for months.  
He kissed Jon harder, pressing on his lips, licking them a bit, making the curly one shiver and swallow a grunt.  
Rain was pouring over them but they could barely feel it, enchanted, trapped in their own crystalized time.  
Morning light danced on his eyelids, posing on them, caressing them and shaking him from his sleep. The scent of morning broke from the window, bringing  
The day after, Robb woke up slowly, feeling great but tired, his muscles protesting a bit, even if his mood was with the stars. He opened his eyes and saw Theon painting, extremely attentively. He was smiling, humming a song that Robb didn't knew but he could identify as traditionally Scottish.  
Half of Theon's arm was blue and he had a huge red stain on his face, still he was smiling, filling the canvas with energy Robb found utterly cute.   
He came behind him and started kissing his back sweetly, slowly – Theon smiled and didn't startle, relaxing his muscles under Robb's full lips, while he left traces and sucked his skin. He was like a fire that never burns and just warms up.  
Robb hugged Theon from behind, and stealing a quick look, recognized the expressionist style instead of the Academy one, but a doubt crossed his mind, immediately...  
Theon smiled at him, enthusiastically, “... isn't it great?”  
“Is this how you feel: deformed, half-melted, kinda sharp and dark red...?”  
“Yes, I woke up assaulted by this amazing sensation of impending judgment, possible loss and utter weakness.”  
Robb rolled his eyes to the ceiling, “And, then again, I thought Sam was the weird one.”

 


End file.
